


Free Will

by ObsidianRye



Series: Free Will Universe [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Self Harm, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, GTA!verse, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Like Ryan doesn't mean to but he does hurt himself like twice??, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Raywood, Ryan is Fucked Up., Torture, also it's a little long, also there is one original character who is the baddie, i couldn't bring myself to use a rt employee, jumping on the bandwagon of ryan calling ray rose, this is also raywood trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianRye/pseuds/ObsidianRye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as Ryan could remember, he had never made his own decisions. He suspected that from the day he was born, his future had already been planned out to a T. </p>
<p>Then he was sent undercover and joined the FAHC. Everything changed the moment he met them, especially the one with the purple hoodie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Will

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely inspired by how Ryan freaks out in Let's Watches when everyone yells at him. Also I'm just Raywood trash, and the FAHC is my weakness (also it's like the only thing I can write good). Thanks for checking this out, and I hope you enjoy!

For as long as Ryan could remember, he had never made his own decisions. He suspected that from the day he was born, his future had already been planned out to a T. He never knew his parents, though he had his suspicions on who they were, and he was raised by a man who ran an impressive empire in the criminal world. The first time the man handed Ryan a gun, he was three years old. The clip had been empty, and there was no danger in him shooting anyone, but he spent all day learning how to handle it. By the time he was five, a gun was just a natural extension of his body, and he almost felt incomplete without one. After perfecting his aim by the age of six, the man had him move onto knives. Ryan fell in love immediately, preferring them over guns the moment he had one in his little hands. Once he tried sneaking a knife out of the training room to keep practicing on his own, but that was against the rules. The scar he got for it wasn’t his first, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last, but with it came the memory of the man’s cold glare etched into his mind. He never tried to take anything from the training room again, even just a glass of water. 

Ryan had learned to speak easily, but it was years before he said anything more than a simple sentence at a time. He was only to speak when spoken to, and if he spoke out of line, the man had threatened to take his tongue. He was nine years old. Ever since he was afraid to talk, petrified that he would say too much. By that time he had already mastered long range and short range shooting, throwing knives, and hand-to-hand combat. He was able to shoot a hole through a flying object across the room, and at the same moment send a knife flying through the object to land in the center of a target. He couldn’t remember a day of his life that wasn’t spent practicing these skills.

The man, Ryan knew him only as Sir, sent him out on his first mission when he was twelve years old. It had been years since he perfected every type of fighting sent his way, and he hadn’t questioned Sir once. He took orders as they came, and carried them out perfectly. Sir had told him to kill a couple that lived on the other side of town, and at nightfall, Ryan was slinking off of the property. It was his first time setting foot outside of the boundaries he had known his whole life, and when he glanced back at the sprawling estate Sir owned, a shiver shot down his spine. The urge to run away was dizzyingly strong, but Ryan suppressed it as he made his way through town. He moved silently, going unnoticed by everyone he passed, and found the couple’s home easily. Sneaking around the edge of the house, he found the back door and quickly picked the lock. He slipped into the house, his footsteps silent as he looked for the kitchen. Upon finding it, he pulled the largest knife he saw from the wooden block on their counter. He froze when he heard a laugh, ducking into a shadowy corner. The laugh had come from upstairs, however, and Ryan was soon following the noise. 

He found a man in the largest bedroom, pulling his shirt over his head as he talked to someone. Ryan couldn’t see the woman, but when he saw the open bathroom door in the room, he knew what he could do. With the man’s back turned to him, Ryan crept into the room, grabbing the man and turning him. The man’s eyes were wide, and his warnings to his wife were muffled by Ryan’s hand. Not thinking twice about it, Ryan sunk the kitchen knife into the man’s stomach, angling it slightly upward. His movements were graceful, artfully perfected over years of practice. He watched the man’s eyes glaze over as warm blood spilled over the knife onto his hand. Letting the man slump to the ground, Ryan waited for the woman to emerge, backed against the shared wall of the bathroom. It wasn’t long before she stepped into her bedroom, worried by her husband’s sudden silence. She barely had time to gasp before Ryan was grabbing her and pulling the knife towards himself, through her. Ryan was careful to keep the knife straight as he walked her over to her bed. As he wrapped the woman’s hands around the knife still buried in her stomach, he was shaken by the color of her eyes. 

They were identical to his, and as the last bit of life drained from her eyes, Ryan could’ve sworn she smiled at him. She didn’t of course, and as her hands fell limply from the knife handle, Ryan was already out of the house. Had he remembered what his smile looked like, he might have paused at the couple’s wedding picture, and found that he shared the same smile with the man. Ryan realized who they must have been when he saw the way Sir grinned at him, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he let the desperate spark of anger he had worked so hard to smother, burn within him. It had always been there, but he had never let it flourish, too afraid of what punishment he might get. As he stood in front of Sir, his blood soaked hands clasped behind him, Ryan was careful to school his features. He tried to listen to Sir explaining what his job from then on would be, but all he could hear was the mixed blood of the couple dripping off his hand. It stained the carpet in Sir’s office, and he was punished for it, despite asking to wash his hands before the meeting. He had been denied of course, and as his body tensed against the pain of his punishment, Ryan felt the flame burn the slightest bit hotter. 

The couple’s blood still stained the carpet in Sir’s office years later, when Ryan was no longer a child, but still standing in the same spot. He had been working under Sir as the man’s personal bodyguard since the night of the couple’s murder. He would shadow the man everywhere, only separating when he was sent on a mission. Sir still led the strongest criminal empire in the nation, and Ryan was the unseen, silent killer behind it. He was there for every meeting, standing in the shadows, ready to kill at a moment’s notice. He had earned the title Soldier from his fellow security officers, even though he outranked them all. He knew why they called him that, and he knew why they were wrong. He may take orders like one, but Ryan wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a man at all. He was a perfectly trained guard dog, ready to tear apart anyone who so much as looked at his master the wrong way. Even with the burning rage swirling inside of him, Ryan was nothing more than a guard dog. He was groomed his entire life to be the perfect dog at Sir’s beck and call.

The only thing that began to make him human, was the anger that bubbled within him, burning him. But he stamped it out as best he could, satisfying it with the murders of Sir’s enemies. He did everything he was told to do, never making a move without being told. Not once had he ever made his own choices. He doubted he even knew how. 

When Ryan was approaching his mid-twenties, and the whispers of Sir’s increasing age were growing concerning, a new gang rose out of the underbelly of Los Santos. Sir’s distaste for Los Santos meant that his empire was the weakest there due to a lack of guidance. It took a few years, but eventually this new gang was rapidly gaining power, proving a viable threat to Sir’s empire. Ryan knew of the gang from the meetings Sir had, learning information as the shadow of his boss. The Fake AH Crew was large, and growing every day, but only five men really caused all the havoc. Sir was growing tired of hearing about them, so he hatched a plan to collapse the crew from the inside out.

As Sir’s latest meeting drew to a close, he beckoned for Ryan to stand before him. Slinking out of the shadows, Ryan waited for his command, back straight and face emotionless. Sir took his time reading the file in his desk, and Ryan was forced to stand there for almost fifteen minutes before his boss finally spoke. 

“Ryan, I’m sure you’ve picked up on the situation in Los Santos,” Sir began, bored, “correct?”

Ryan nodded once, listening as Sir continued, “I’ve grown tired of having to hear about them from my underlings. For this reason, I am sending you to Los Santos, alone, to infiltrate their ranks. From there you’ll feed me information and, when I give you the go ahead, destroy them.”

Ryan was slightly surprised, he hadn’t been sent undercover before, and he hadn’t gone more than a week away from Sir before, but he concealed the emotion easily as he spoke gruffly, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Sir nodded, waving his hand dismissively, “I’ve arranged for you to leave tonight. Take only what you need, and don’t let them know who you are.”

Ryan only nodded in response, turning stiffly to leave. He didn’t relax as he packed, grabbing his mask and slipping it on easily. After his first mission years ago, Sir tossed a mask in front of him, the dark plastic molded into the shape of a skull. He was going to start using an alias on his missions. At Sir’s side, he was little more than an obedient guard dog, but on his assassination missions away from his boss’ side, he was the Vagabond. He quickly became known as the deadliest criminal in the nation, and possibly the world, for his perfect kills. He was rarely seen, only showing his mask when the boss wanted to make a statement. He was a ghost, a myth, in the criminal world. He liked it that way, but now he was going to have to get the Fake AH Crew to let him in.

On the flight to Los Santos, Ryan read every bit of information they had on the crew, even though he had heard pretty much all of it as Sir did. The crew was founded and led by Geoff Ramsey, a warm-hearted soul who had a knack for shooting and picking up strays. It wasn’t commonly known information on how he got started in the criminal world, but Ryan had no interest in that. Jack Pattillo was Geoff’s second in command and had been by the man’s side from the beginning. Their first recruit was Gavin Free, who ran away from his home in England when he was fourteen, picking him up off the street. Not long after that, Gavin found Michael Jones, who had also run away from his home in Jersey and was living on the streets, but at a much younger age. For years it was just the four of them, working together, and then Ray Narvaez Jr. just showed up on their front door. He was the sniper of the group, and apparently the next best shot around. Even so, Ryan was considerably more skilled than him.

Landing in Los Santos, Ryan watched the plane that barely stopped long enough him for to jump off, soar away, and went about making sure the Vagabond made himself known in Los Santos, just at Sir had suggested. Not even bothering to stop at a hotel, Ryan tracked down a new gang, just starting to make a name for itself in the city of crime. Thirty minutes later, Ryan was strolling out of their burning warehouse, splattered in blood, and dragging the only man left breathing just far enough from the fire to keep him alive, but to still burn him. He dropped the unconscious man unceremoniously in the dust, not bothering to look behind him. He knew that the man would tell anyone that listened what the Vagabond did to them, and that’s exactly what he was hoping for. After waiting  a few days for the story to cement in the city’s collective mind, Ryan would return for the man and finish off the gang. He had been expecting to have to work alone for a few months before Geoff would approach him with a job, but he had barely been in town for three weeks when the mustached man showed up at his motel room. 

He had been cleaning some dried blood off of a knife when Geoff knocked, but he let him in silently. Geoff raised his eyebrows, glancing around the room, “That was easier than I expected it would be. Were you expecting me?”

Ryan sneered at Geoff behind the mask, but kept his eyes coolly neutral, “Do you have a job for me or not?”

The other man grinned wickedly at that, “So you were expecting me. I do have a job, and I’ve been waiting for you to pop up again. It’s yours if you want it, but you’ll have to live with the rest of us for a while. At least until I know I can trust you.”

Ryan frowned, thinking his logic was backward, but sheathed his now clean knife, “Fine. I’ll be there at nine tomorrow. I don’t like waiting, so don’t be late.”

Geoff frowned at that, “I haven’t told you where we live yet.”

“Don’t need to,” Ryan gruffed, opening the door. Geoff eyed him for a moment, but sauntered out of the motel room when Ryan’s hand twitched slightly. Ryan sighed when he left, slipping a hand under his mask to rub at his eyes. His fingers came away smudged with face paint, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He collapsed in the crappy bed, hoping to get a little bit of sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he was jolted awake by the nightmares that had plagued him since he was young. That was another sleepless night for Ryan, which he spent cleaning all his weapons meticulously. 

At half past eight, Ryan gathered his few belongings, mostly weapons, and took the stolen bike he grabbed earlier that week, to the building Geoff and his crew lived in. They lived at the very top, in the penthouse. At exactly nine, Ryan rapped on the door sharply, twice in quick succession. The next second, Geoff was opening the door, grinning at him.

“Vagabond! Right on time,” Geoff gestured for Ryan to enter with a sweeping arm. Ryan held back an eye roll as he entered. “Allow me to introduce everyone.”

Ryan stopped a few paces from where everyone was seated. He recognized every face, having studied their pictures closely, The curly haired man he knew to be Michael was glaring at him while Gavin watched him nervously, clinging to Michael’s arm. Jack smiled at him tightly, rubbing his beard in what Ryan knew to be a nervous tick. Ray didn’t bother looking at him, glancing upward for less than a second before returning to his DS.

“The grumpy looking one is Michael,” Geoff began, pointing. When he tried to place a hand on his shoulder, Ryan sidestepped away. He could feel his irritation itching at the burning spark, and had the urge to shoot someone.

Instead he listened through Geoff’s introduction, only half paying attention. That is until he reached Ray, his words dragging Ryan back to reality, “And finally, we have Ray. Maybe you’ve heard of him as Brownman, and he’s the best shot I’ve met.”

Ryan held back a snort as his hand twitched with the urge to kill. He hoped that they would have a job soon, so he could shoot someone. The rest of the night was uneventful. He stayed in the room Geoff designated as his, tuning out the laughter from the next room. He refused to acknowledge the ache in his heart that had been there for as long as he could remember, struggling to recall the last time he laughed out of happiness and not blood lust. He couldn’t remember.

He didn’t sleep that night, and slipped into the main part of the penthouse, hoping to find a few snippets of information. Instead he found Ray, leaning dangerously far over the railing on the balcony, eyes closed. He had his feet wedged between the spaces in the metal bars, folding over the railing just above his waist, and his arms were spread out, his fingers splayed. The small amount of hair that stuck out from his beanie moved with the wind, and Ray looked at peace. Ryan couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the look on the younger man’s face. Ryan knew that he had never known anything like that, and for a second the ache in his heart doubled. The spark ebbed and flowed with the throbbing of his heart, blazing between the pulses. His urge to kill reached a peak, and he almost shot Ray, before it disappeared completely under the weight of his thoughts. 

Ryan cursed at himself for staring so long when Ray turned his head, catching Ryan standing in the middle of the room. Ryan clenched his jaw when Ray clamored down, slipping through the sliding glass door. He shouldn’t have been so stupid, he had a job to do, and he always finished his jobs. Ryan was about to stalk out of the room and leave the snooping for the next night when Ray smiled at him. The peacefulness that Ryan saw on the balcony was in his relaxed smile, and Ryan panicked. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He didn’t have any orders for when something like this happened, it had simply never happened. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ray asked, pulling his DS out of pocket when he dropped onto the cushioned chair behind him. He opened the device, the light casting over his face, but didn’t look down at it. He continued looking up at Ryan with a raised eyebrow. “You’re allowed to talk, you know.”

Ryan tensed, frowning beneath his mask, his eyes still emotionless. He took a small breath before saying, “I don’t sleep a lot.”

Ray snorted, looking down at the DS, “Join the club.”

Ryan stayed silent, standing in the middle of the room as he tried to figure out what to do. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do in these situations, no one had ever told him. It wasn’t until Ray looked up at him with an amused eyebrow raised that he realized he should have done something,  _ anything _ , by now.

“You can sit, Vagabond,” Ray told him, nodding to the couch. Before he could even finish talking, Ryan was hurrying to sit on the couch. He was relieved to have something to do, even if it was for just a second. He glanced at Ray to find the younger man smiling at him, and for just a moment the aching in his heart vanished, and the spark sizzled out. In that moment he felt his eyes soften for the first time in years. The next moment panic seized him, and his chest started to tighten. He wasn’t supposed to get smiled at, that wasn’t what Sir wanted. It wasn’t in his orders to let himself be smiled at. The mask started to feel like fire wrapping around his head, and his breathing was shallow. His ears started to buzz, and Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, willing the feelings away. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Ray sat next to him, pulling out one of his knives.

“Whoa, whoa,” Ray’s voice was soft, and his arms were raised, “it’s just me, buddy.”

Ryan looked at him and wondered why the younger man had moved to sit besides him. As if Ray had read his thoughts, the other man spoke again, “I’m just trying to see if I could help some. I have them sometimes to.”

Ray must have noticed something in the way Ryan looked at him, because he seemed to know how confused Ryan was, “Panic attacks.”

Ryan shook his head. No, he didn’t have panic attacks. They were a sign of weakness. Sir would punish him if he had ever had one, and Sir had never punished him for a panic attack. Sometimes Ryan just felt lost, or overwhelmed when his orders weren’t clear enough. Ray hovered a hand over Ryan’s shoulder, watching to see how the older man reacted. Ryan jumped up, shaking his head. 

“No,” He grumbled, his voice hoarse, “I don’t have panic attacks. I’m stronger than that. I’m not  _ weak _ .”

For a millisecond, hurt flashed through Ray’s eyes, and Ryan felt a sharp pang of guilt. The hurt  in the lad’s eyes was quickly replaced with anger, however, as Ray stood, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could get a word out though, Ryan dashed out of the room. The door to his bedroom slammed silently shut behind him, and he ran to the bathroom. Stumbling into the bathtub, Ryan sat on his knees, clawing at his mask. The heavy plastic fell off his face, and contrasted against the white porcelain. Ryan didn’t feel the scratches on his head stinging until he had the water was beating down on him. He sat curled in on himself in the bathtub, with hot water running down his back until the water turned cold, and he could hear the conversations of the crew. They all laughed.

“I’m not weak,” Ryan whispered to himself, voice raw from repeating it all night. His hands shook and he dug his nails into his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not weak. I’m not weak. I’m not weak.”

* * *

 

Long after Ryan’s voice finally gave out on him, and the water had turned from hot to cold again, he shut the shower off, stumbling out with his mask bunched in his hand. His body protested the sudden movement after a night of staying curled in one spot, and he slowly stripped out of his soaking clothes. He tossed them into the bathtub with a glare. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Ryan sneered at the mine field of scars littering his body. Most of them were from Sir’s punishments, but a few were from his own stupid mistakes. He glared at those ones, ignoring the hundreds of others. 

_ I’m not weak _ he snarled at himself. He was tempted to shatter the mirror with a punch, but instead he changed into fresh clothes and pulled his mask on. Glaring at everything he flung his door open, not bothering to wince as it collided against the wall with a bang. He heard a few exclamations from the rest of the crew, but he ignored them, heading straight for the door.

“Vagabond, where are you going?” Geoff called, the smallest bit of a warning in his voice. Ryan whipped around, knowing his eyes were still set in a fiery glare. Some of them winced, and Ryan turned back without a word. He had a job to do.

The last thing he heard before slamming the door shut was Ray’s calm voice laced with understanding disappointment, “Just let him go.”

Ryan wasn’t sure why that made his heart jump to his throat, but it did. That just made him all the more angry. Pulling on the gloves tucked in his back pocket, Ryan climbed onto his bike, revving the engine, and flying out of the garage. He had to start finding out more about the crew. Thinking back to the file he read, he recounted some of the gangs known to have problems with the Fake AH Crew, which was almost all of them. One low-level name popped into his mind, and he sped off in the direction of their one and only warehouse. The spark was burning him from the inside, reaching up to his throat. He was only a few minutes from the warehouse, he just had to keep his hand from twitching too much.

As the crew watched the report of a fire in the warehouse district, started in one owned by a rival gang, none of them were surprised when the Vagabond walked in, covered in blood. It was almost a sickening amount, and Gavin had to hold back a gag at the sight. They were, however, surprised when Ryan leant over the couch to drop a folder in front of Geoff. It had “FAHC” printed on it in sharpie, and Ryan’s bloody, gloved fingerprints glared at them in the light. Geoff looked at Ryan, and found his eyes to be emotionless once again. He held back a sigh of relief that he didn’t look like he was about to murder all of them in cold blood. Ryan stalked back to his room silently, the door closing without even a click. 

Jack started to grumble about tracking blood into the house and on the couch, standing to inspect the damage. He was shocked when the Vagabond had managed to not get a single drop of blood on the floor, and even more surprised that the couch was still a bright white where he had leaned on it. It was almost as if he willed the blood to stick to only him. 

“Holy shit,” Geoff muttered, flipping through the papers in the file. Everyone turned to him, silently demanding an explanation. “The Vagabond just stopped these fuckers from attacking us before we even knew they were. Before our man on the  _ inside _ even knew what they were planning.”

“What a nice guy,” Ray deadpanned, playing tetris on his DS. Michael snorted next to him, and Gavin couldn’t help snickering. Geoff rolled his eyes, and Jack smiled at them all, tossing a controller at Ray’s head. The lad caught it easily, laughing as he did. Farther into the apartment, Ryan was spraying the blood off of himself and his clothes with the shower head. When he heard the laughing of his new crewmates, he ignored the ache in his heart and scowled down at the bloody hand gripping the nozzle.

Ryan didn’t emerge from his room for the rest of the day, pushing away the thoughts of hunger. He didn’t risk slipping out of his room until he was sure everyone was asleep; the whole penthouse was quiet, not even the sliding glass door moved. He had been looking around the living area of the penthouse for info for five minutes before someone’s door opened. Ryan cursed, dropping the photograph he had been inspecting exactly as he found it. He figured he wouldn’t have time slip past them in the hallway before they were in the room, so he opened the fridge door and stuck his head in, pretending to rummage around for something. He knew who was up before they even spoke, and he wasn’t in the least surprised.

“Midnight snack?” Ray asked, amusement laced in his words. Ryan grabbed at an abandoned Diet Coke can in the back of the fridge before straightening. He showed the can to the younger man instead of replying.

“Shit, I didn’t know we had Diet Coke,” Ray said, surprised. He looked at Ryan as the older man searched for something to say. 

“Uh, it was in the back,” Ryan’s voice still sounded like gravel in a blender from the night before. Ray’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“You sound like shit,” He said blatantly, giving Ryan an unamused look. “I didn’t take you for the type to yell while you burn down a building, but to each their own I guess.”

“I don’t yell,” Ryan snapped, his grip on the can tightening. He felt the flimsy metal bend under his fingertips slightly, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. 

“Alrighty then,” Ray smirked, hands up, “you don’t yell. More of the silent killer type.”

Ryan suppressed a growl, schooling his features into neutrality. All he wanted was to gather intel for one damned night. He just wanted to follow orders, and Ray’s sleeping habits were getting in his way. He pushed past Ray, soda can still gripped tight in his hand. He heard the younger man stumble as he continued past him, and scowled. Maybe he should just try getting up before everyone else to look for information. 

He slumped into the chair in his room, paired with the desk he had yet to really use as anything other than counter space. The can of Diet Coke was still in his hand. He looked down at it, wondering what to do with it. He had never actually had any Diet Coke, or any other soda for that matter. Sir had a nutritionist monitoring his diet constantly when he was still on the estate to keep him as fit as possible. Ryan considered the can for a moment before setting it on the desk. Maybe he would ask someone about it later, see what it was all about. 

Ryan flopped onto his bed, laying his mask next to him, and figured he would try to get a wink of sleep before morning. He fell asleep after a few hours, but only stayed that way for twenty minutes before nightmares chased him back to consciousness. Ryan gasped awake, sweat drenching his t-shirt. After realizing he had been dreaming, he scowled darkly and slipped his mask on. It was a bit past four in the morning, and the sky would start to lighten soon, so Ryan slipped back out of his room to try scouring for some info again. He grabbed the coke can before he left to put it back in the fridge. However, as soon as he walked out of the hall, the graphics of Call of Duty were silently playing on the TV and Ray was hanging upside down off the couch as he played. Ryan bit back a sigh and turned to retreat into his room when Ray noticed him.

“Hey,” He greeted, sitting up on the couch, face flushed red and his hair sticking up in some places. Ryan bit his lip, making sure to rid his eyes of all emotion, and couldn’t help but find it funny. Ray grinned at him, dazed from the headrush he had, “Do you game?”

Ryan bit his lip harder, this time with a scowl. No, he didn’t game. Sir never allowed him to do anything except train and sit through lessons with his tutors. Ryan could remember learning about video games, and instantly becoming fascinated with them. He had asked once for a DS, even suggesting getting a used one, and Sir punished him for not appreciating what he did for the boy. He never asked again, but always wished for the day that he could get his hands on a game. Now he had the chance, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He had a job to do, and Sir’s orders definitely didn’t include gaming with the enemy. He bit his lip even harder with nerves, his eyes darting from the TV to the kitchen. Ray looked at him with a puzzled look, and Ryan felt blood bloom against his lip, souring his mouth with the taste of copper. He released his raw lip, the pull from his teeth lifting making him bleed more. Evidently a lot more.

“Holy shit!” Ray’s eyes widened and he leaned over the couch toward Ryan, supporting himself with his knees. “Vagabond, you’re bleeding!”

“I know,” Ryan nodded, using a finger to swipe at the trickle of blood that had escaped his mask. His lip would clot in a second, he just needed something to wipe up the renegade blood. Scowling at his finger as it came back red, Ryan lifted his eyebrows when a tissue was shoved into his hand. Ray was looking at him with a frown, tissue box in hand. Before the lad could shove another one into his hand, Ryan used the tissue to wipe off the blood that was slowly making it’s way down his neck. As he did so he could feel his lip clotting, and he turned to throw the tissue away. When he turned back Ray was on the other side of the couch; the same side as Ryan.

“Are you okay dude?” He asked, moving to offer Ryan another tissue.

“I’m fine,” Ryan gruffed, shaking his head. Ray bit his lip for a second before shrugging it off. Suddenly, he pointed down at Ryan’s hand. When he followed the finger, Ryan realized he was still holding the can of soda. He looked at it a moment, turning back to Ray when he chuckled.

“You didn’t drink it?” Ray asked, moving to swipe the can from Ryan. Instinctively, Ryan dodged the move, making Ray’s smile widen.

“I, uh-” Ryan faltered knowing he was supposed to say something, “I’ve never actually had Diet Coke before.”

Ray gaped at him for a second, “What do you mean? I didn’t think that was possible in the United States of Americas.”

“I- I don’t drink a lot of soda,” Ryan offered, scratching at the place where his mask ended. Ray smiled at him for a second, a look that Ryan couldn’t place dancing in his eyes.

“Well, you can drink that one if you want,” Ray pointed at the can again, watching Ryan expectantly. The older man gulped, unsure if he should. He only shrugged his shoulders, relaxing despite himself when Ray laughed.

“Just drink it Vagabond,” Ray reached forward and Ryan let him open the can. It fizzed, and a bit of carbonation bubbled up before retreating back into the can. Ryan nodded, moving to drink from the can before remembering his mask. Upon seeing his hesitation Ray laughed lightly, screwing his eyes shut.

Ryan bit back a chuckle at the sight and quickly lifted his mask to take a sip. He almost dropped the can when he did, quickly taking a gulp. He dropped his mask down and stared at the open can, “This is amazing.”

Ray’s laugh was loud and Ryan couldn’t help smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time someone laughed with him. He couldn’t remember anyone laughing with him. Sir only ever laughed at him, and everyone else was too afraid; of him or Sir, Ryan wasn’t sure. 

“It’s all yours buddy,” Ray grinned, amused. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with an idea and he scurried off to the kitchen. Before Ryan could move, he was back, and dropped something in the can. Ryan felt his eyes light up with amusement at the bendy straw floating in his drink.

“The carbonation will mess with it for a bit,” Ray told him, lightly tapping the straw and watching as it bobbed, “but it’ll work great with your mask.”

Ryan watched the bobbing straw for a long moment, a strange feeling spreading through his chest. He realized it was appreciation and he looked up at Ray, staring at the man as he also watched the straw. When Ray looked up he was met with the hard gaze behind the Vagabond’s mask, and worried for a moment that he did something wrong. Then the madman looked down, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“Thank you,” Ryan’s voice was soft, and the words felt strange in his mouth. For once, they were genuine. There was a moment of silence before Ray huffed a laugh.

“Come on,” He said, walking back towards the couch, careful not to touch Ryan with his beckoning hand. “You never had a chance to tell me if you gamed.”

Ryan resisted the urge to bite his lip as he followed Ray, knowing it would start bleeding again. “I’ve never played before, but I’ve always wanted to,” Ryan explained after realizing that Ray couldn’t see his shaking head.

Ray collapsed onto the couch, grabbing one of the five controllers on the coffee table, and patted the spot next to him, “Come sit. I’ll teach you.”

Ryan nodded and sat next to Ray, feeling at ease as Ray told him what to do. It was nice to have some direction after being thrust into the world of Los Santos all by himself. He wasn’t used to having any freedom with Sir, and suddenly the Fakes were giving plenty of it. He was grateful that Ray seemed determined to get him to do things, always insisting. He was never the decision maker in the relationship he had with Sir, and he had no idea what he would do if he didn’t have someone helping him with choices. It was stressful, and Ryan almost missed the strict routine he had with Sir before scowling. Even if he did have a routine with Sir, the spark still burned his insides. It wasn’t as hot when he was sitting with Ray, not having to worry about the stress of having not enough, or too much, independence. 

“You’re not half bad at this,” Ray complimented as he shot a bullet through Ryan’s character. The match ended, and for the fifth time in a row, Ray had won. Ryan scowled at the scores, but it didn’t make the spark hotter like scowling usually did. Instead, it seemed to lift his spirits as Ray laughed. 

“You’re too good at this,” Ryan retorted, shaking his head. He hadn’t talked much while they played, simply because he had nothing to say. Rather, he had nothing he would actually say. The fear of talking too much still wrapped around his throat like a vice. Ray didn’t seem to mind, either doing enough talking for the two of them, or playing in silence like Ryan 

It was almost six in the morning and Ryan was beginning to grow nervous. What would happen when the others started to wake? Would he have to make a decision? Would Ray leave him alone to spend time with his actual friends? His nerves calmed when Ray grinned at him, a challenging glint in his eye. Without a word, they started up a new game. Ryan was only one point away from winning by the end.

Two more hours passed, and Ryan was happy to play games with Ray all day. He found that he liked video games even more than he thought he would, and Ray was quick to make decisions for the two of them. After Ray won for the umpteenth time, he yelped loudly instead of his usual gloating. In a heartbeat Ryan was up with a gun ready to shoot in one hand, and a knife twirling in the other. He pointed the gun at the person who had startled Ray, cursing himself for letting his guard down. Before anything more happened, Ray stood quickly, blocking Ryan’s shot. Gavin scrambled away from the couch, squawking about almost dying. 

Ryan knew that it was Gavin, and that he could relax, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the weapons down. His heart was pounding and all he could think was that he had to protect the younger man. He was the only one who had shown him how to do anything. He needed a person like that, or else he would fall apart without orders.

“Vagabond!” Ray exclaimed, holding his hands in front of Ryan to protect Gavin. “It’s okay. It was only Gav being a dumbass. You can calm down.”

Ryan didn’t move for a moment, before slipping his weapons away and standing at attention. It was more out of habit than anything because Sir always demanded he return to that position. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing straight with an emotionless look. He realized only a moment after Ray that it was weird to do something like that at the penthouse. He forced himself to relax as Ray furrowed his brow at him.

“What was that?” He asked, watching the way the Vagabond’s eyes turned to stone. “Are you okay?”

Ryan’s chest tightened. Ray was asking him questions, and questions meant you had to decide how to answer. He had always known how to answer Sir, but he had no idea what to do at the penthouse. He looked at Ray for a moment, feeling the vice around his throat tighten. He rushed out off the room, ignoring Ray calling for him. When he got to his room, the vice still refused to loosen, so he ripped his mask off, sending it flying across the room. He rubbed his face, thankful that he forgot the face paint in his hurry to find intel. Oh, god. The intel.

Ryan had a job to do, and instead of doing it, he spent all morning playing video games with a man he was going to have to kill one day. Ryan’s eyes widened at the thought and the vice tightened, spreading down to his lungs. He wouldn’t be able to kill Ray, and then he would be punished by Sir. He didn’t want to kill Ray. He didn’t want to be punished. He didn’t want to kill Ray. He didn’t want to be punished. 

Ryan felt a scream bubbling in his throat, but instead, he bit down on his knuckles. Screwing his eyes shut, Ryan bit down as hard as he could until the urge to scream dissipated.He could feel the blood running down his arm from his knuckles. He didn’t mean to make himself bleed, he just couldn’t scream. It would be a sign of weakness, and Sir would punish him, just like he used to when Ryan would scream in the middle of a punishment. It showed weakness, and he wasn’t weak. 

Hauling himself off the floor Ryan walked to the bathroom, his feet dragging slightly. He refused to flinch when the hot water poured over his knuckles and washed the blood away. Grabbing the first aid kit he brought, Ryan wrapped his knuckles tightly, winding the bandage over and over. By the time he was finished, the bleeding had finished, and his hand throbbed. He wished that his body could suppress its reactions like Ryan did. The throbbing made him scowl. He wasn’t weak.

It was hours before he emerged from his room, egged on by the sharp pains in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in a few days, and the pit was beginning to snarl at him. He stayed as far into the shadows he could, grateful the sun had set a few hours ago. The whole crew was gathered around the TV, watching a movie. Thankful that they were all absorbed in the movie, Ryan moved silently, slinking into the kitchen. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was an apple on the counter, and turned to hide away in his bedroom again. Just as glanced over to the others though, he was met with Ray staring at him. He ducked away even though Ray definitely knew he was there. 

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” Ryan heard Ray excuse himself, and cursed silently. Why didn’t he wait for the middle of the night, when Ray at least might’ve been in his room? Ryan listened to the approaching footsteps, letting his head fall back against the cupboard he was sitting against. Why didn’t Sir just have him kill them instead of this complicated arrangement? Guilt flooded Ryan just as he thought that; he didn’t want to kill Ray. 

“Hey asshole,” Ray stage whispered, glaring at Ryan. Ryan tried to ignore him, and clung to his apple. Ray walked further into the kitchen until he was a few steps from Ryan and crouched. “Vagadouche, it’s rude to ignore people.”

“It’s rude to call people Vagadouche,” Ryan snapped, unable to stop the words as they tumbled out. He just wanted to go back to his room. Panic seized his heart as he waited for Ray’s reaction. Surely the younger man would want nothing to do with him.

Ray laughed breathily after a beat, and Ryan almost sighed in relief, “Touche.”

Ryan tried avoiding Ray’s gaze, and Ray tried to catch Ryan’s eye. He finally sighed and sat on the floor, leaning his back against the cupboard a few down from Ryan’s, “I wish you hadn’t run off earlier. No one was upset, everyone wants to shoot Gavin sometimes. And you didn’t even know it was Gavin at first.”

Ryan stayed silent, staring down at his apple, wishing he could eat it through his mask. His stomach chose then to rumble in annoyance, and Ryan once again wished his body could hide its reactions. Ray only laughed, standing. He held a hand out to Ryan, and the older man didn’t know what to do with it.

“Here, give me the apple,” Ray wiggled his fingers and Ryan placed it in his hand carefully. At least he wasn’t asking questions anymore. Ray moved around the kitchen quickly, intimately familiar with the organization. In no time he had the apple cut into wedges, handing it back to Ryan on a plate.

“You can just slip them under your mask,” Ray explained. Ryan nodded in understanding, but didn’t see it necessary; he was just going back to his room anyway.

“I was going to eat in my room without the mask,” Ryan said, unsure why he said anything at all, “but thank you.”

“Oh nooo,” Ray shook his head, and a jolt of panic shot through Ryan. “You have to come watch the movie with us. I cut your apple up so you can eat it while you watch.”

Ryan didn’t particularly want to watch the movie, but he listened to Ray anyway, trailing after him sheepishly. Ray reached over and paused the movie when he got close enough to the remote, waving away the protests.

“Vagabond is going to be joining us,” Ray said, watching Ryan stand awkwardly a few steps away from the couch, “and eating apple slices.”

Michael snorted at the last part, looking over at the man who stared back at him. Ryan had banished all emotion from his face, and he knew his gaze was cold. Michael narrowed his eyes, but averted his gaze. Ryan looked down at the apple slices and wished he could go back to his room. Ray, however, pointed at the empty seat next to where he had been sitting. He had kicked Jack off the couch into one of the chairs, but the bearded man didn’t mind. Ryan clenched his jaw and stalked over to the couch, roughly sitting on the cushion. Ray nodded once, took his seat besides Ryan, and unpaused the movie. Everyone took a moment to stare at Ryan before looking back to the TV, immediately engrossed again. Ryan watched, but didn’t pay attention to what was happening. 

Suddenly Ray was leaning a little closer and whispered, “You can eat the apple, now, if you want.”

Ryan looked over at Ray, who nodded at him, and started eating. It was awkward at first, and sometimes a smudge of fresh face paint stuck to the apple, but eventually Ryan got the hang of jamming the food under his mask. Ray would occasionally glance over and make sure he was okay. 

When Ryan finished the apple, he wasn’t sure what to with his hands. He leaned forward and placed the empty plate on the coffee table, mimicking what he saw Jack do with the popcorn bowl. No one spared him a glance. Slowly, Ryan pulled one of his smaller knives out and began to twirl it, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. He began watching the movie again, undistracted by his twitching fingers. Ray looked over when he saw movement in the corner of his eye, and was immediately mesmerized. Vagabond twirled the knife artfully, his fingers curving with the blade gracefully. It was unlike anything he had seen. He never once cut himself, and Ray was in awe. 

Ray wasn’t the only one who noticed Ryan’s trick, Gavin exclaiming the moment he noticed, “That’s bloody amazing!”

Immediately everyone was looking at Ryan, who stopped twirling the knife and stared at Gavin. The brit began to fidget under the Vagabond’s stony gaze, and everyone tensed, waiting for his response. A long moment passed where Ryan’s gaze never left Gavin, and his mind raced for the appropriate response. He wasn’t used to praise, and on the rare occasions he was praised, it never his place to speak. 

“Uh, thank you,” Ryan settled on, watching Gavin to gauge his reaction. The lad froze for a second, before grinning.

“You’re welcome,” He chirped, thankful that he hadn’t decided to send the knife flying into his skull. Everyone relaxed, and the movie became the center of attention once again. Ryan slid the knife away, and Ray watched with a disappointed look.

It wasn’t long, though, before Ryan was slipping it back out, and twirling it again. Ray immediately focused on the movement, ignoring the almost finished movie. Twenty minutes later, when the credits were rolling, Ray was still watching the way Ryan twirled his knife. Slowly the others busied themselves with other things..

“You have to show me how you do that!” Ray exclaimed, excitement lifting his features. Ryan looked down at the knife before turning back to Ray. He was silent for a moment, and Ray’s excitement began to deflate.

Ryan looked at Ray and nodded, “Okay.”

Ray laughed happily, and stood, “Come on, we’ll go on the balcony. It’s calmer.”

Ryan followed, and soon Ray had them seated on the balcony, across from each other. Ryan began to twirl the knife, softly explaining what he was doing as he he did it. Ray kept asking to see it again, so Ryan kept twirling, and eventually almost an hour had passed. Ryan had long ago stopped explaining when Ray asked him if he could do anything cool, concentrating on all the tricks he knew.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Ray asked, watching as Ryan alternated two knives between his hands, twirling them as he did. 

“I taught myself,” Ryan shrugged, watching the knives as they moved. Ray had been silent for a moment, and when Ryan looked up he saw Ray’s mouth agape. His mouth twitched up in a smile that demanded to reach his eyes.

“Holy shit,” Ray spoke slowly, his eyes bright. “You are fucking badass.”

Ryan stopped the knives, one weaved between his fingers, and the other balanced between his thumb and pointer fingers. Ray grinned at him, and Ryan couldn’t help but laugh, shocking the whole crew. For the first time Ryan could remember, he laughed at something other than the chaos he caused. For the first time, possibly in his whole life, Ryan laughed with someone.

* * *

 

Ryan had been with the crew for four months already, and Sir was getting frustrated at the amount of information Ryan was able to provide. Ryan was ordered to work harder, but it was hard to snoop when he was almost always around someone. Mostly it was Ray, who shared the same sleep cycle as Ryan, but over the four months Ryan had grown fond of all the men. They all worked well together, and all their heists had gone off without a hitch. He still couldn’t make his own decisions, but slowly everyone stopped giving him choices without even noticing. Ryan was fine with that, because it was nothing like living with Sir. They didn’t make him choose between anything, but they also didn’t force him into anything, or punish him. More than anything, it was small favors or gaming decisions. Ryan was starting to think of the penthouse as his home, and not Sir’s estate. It concerned him greatly, and sometimes he would feel the vice start tightening, but then someone would make him laugh or Ray would smile at him, and the feeling became manageable. 

When Sir demanded to know what was taking Ryan so long, he explained that it was hard to find any time he could sneak through the penthouse. Sir had scoffed, and told him to just ask Geoff for the intel. Ryan felt his stomach drop, and the vice tightened. Sir had already hung up, and Ryan was left in his room, struggling to breathe. He didn’t want to manipulate Geoff, but he also didn’t want to disobey his orders. He didn’t want to manipulate Geoff, but he didn’t want to risk the punishment Sir would rain down on him.

When Ray knocked on his door, Ryan was curled in on himself, his back against the foot of his bed. When Ray called his name out, Ryan tried to answer, but he couldn’t breath. When Ray started pounding on the door, all Ryan could do was whimper, cowering away from the noise. Ray burst through the door when he heard the noise, and felt his heart break for Ryan. 

“Ryan!” He rushed to the man’s side, closing the door behind him. He knelt next to the older man, thankful that Ryan had told them his name not long ago. “Ryan, it’s me Ray.”

Ryan unfolded his arms from over his head and wrapped them around Ray with a shudder. Ray was shocked for a moment, Ryan rarely liked to be touched. Sometimes he would flinch away when Ray would try for a high-five after winning a game. Now Ryan was clinging to him like his life depended on it. Ray sat completely, and wrapped his arms around Ryan. He rubbed circles on Ryan’s back and talked to him quietly. Slowly Ryan began to calm down, and he sat up, looking at Ray with tired eyes. 

Ray opened his mouth to speak, stopping when Ryan tore his mask away. He had never taken his mask off in front of the crew, but he was suffocating in it. He scrubbed at his face, his face paint smudging everywhere. He sighed, keeping his face in his hands before glancing at Ray.

The younger man was watching with wide eyes, and Ryan smiled at him sheepishly. Ray laughed, and leaned forward for a hug, smiling when Ryan hugged him back tightly. When he pulled away, Ray’s eyes were clouded with worry and he was frowning.

“Rye, what happened?” He asked, watching Ryan carefully. The man froze, letting his head fall onto Ray’s shoulder, his face paint rubbing off on the shirt. 

“I couldn’t breathe,” Ryan mumbled, guilt flooding him. He wasn’t technically lying, but he felt dirty telling Ray half truths. Ray kept muttering reassurances, and Ryan pulled away, scowling down at the floor. Ray frowned at him in worry, but Ryan stood before he could say anything.

“I need a shower,” Ryan stated, remembering when Sir used to make him shower after getting his face paint everywhere. He felt dirty from head to toe. Ray nodded, and stood.

“Do you want me to stop by after?” Ray asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Or you can join us in Mario Party.”

Ryan bit his lip, unsure. Ray smiled softly, taking in the details of Ryan’s face, “How about you come relax on the couch with us when you’re done?”

Ryan nodded, glad to have the decision made. Ray bent to pick up the mask at their feet, “Do you want go maskless? I’ll warn them for you.”

Ryan bit his lip, but nodded after a moment. He had been considering going maskless around the crew, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Ray smiled at him, rested the mask on the bed, and slipped out of the room without another word. Ryan sighed, and made his way to the bathroom.

The paint ran off of his face with the hot water, streaking downward. Ryan washed all the paint away, yearning to stay in the shower all night. He had told Ray he would relax with them on the couch, so twenty minutes later he was already dressed and leaving his room. He took a deep breath, hoping no one would freak out when he walked in. All eyes were on him when entered the room, smiling slightly. He stood in the mouth of the hallway, and for the first time since he became the Vagabond, someone besides Sir was seeing the man behind the mask. Ray grinned at him, and Ryan waited. 

“You’re bloody handsome!” Gavin finally exclaimed, smiling broadly. Everyone else broke into smiles, and said only words of encouragement for him. Ryan laughed, his head tilting back, as relief swam through his head. Ray watched him, savoring the moments when Ryan grinned and laughed with them. 

“Come sit down,” Ray beckoned. Ryan nodded and sat on the couch besides Ray, his eyes happy. The longer he spent with the crew, the more he realized how unhappy he was with Sir. It terrified him, but he still had a job to do. If he took any longer, Sir might make him leave. 

Ray passed his controller off to Ryan, and watched him play Mario Party with Jack and the other lads. Ryan could see him watching out of the corner of his eye, and felt so at home it almost startled him. Suddenly, Geoff’s phone started ringing, the tone shrill, and Ryan glanced at him. Geoff answered it, and slowly his face morphed into a glower.  He hung up with a sign, tossing his phone on the coffee table with a bang. Now everyone glanced at him, someone pausing the game.

“Geoff, what’s wrong?” Jack asked worriedly, placing a hand on Geoff’s shoulder. The older man sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Kerry just called,” Geoff began, and Ryan remembered Kerry to be an informant, “and he says that somehow word got out about our next heist. We’re going to have to wait at least a few extra weeks for things to calm down.”

Ryan knew that was his fault. He had told Sir about the heist the last time he demanded intel. Ryan hadn’t wanted to give away the crew’s plan, but it was his job. He was just following orders. Why did his stomach twist so painfully, then?

“Did he say who?” Michael asked, anger sparking in his eyes. “Someone must have talked.”

“That’s just it,” Geoff explained, frustration laced in his words, “he looked into it, but came up empty handed. I’m going to make some calls to some of the others; see if anyone knows something.”

“How many informants do you even have?” Ryan asked, forcing his voice to sound casual. He knew that could be valuable information for Sir, and if he wanted to avoid being called back to the estate, he had to have something to give.

“Well, I try to have someone in every ring, like Miles at the station, but I have pretty much all of them under my thumb at this point,” Geoff answered without a second thought. Ryan nodded, contributing nothing else to the conversation. 

“I’ll rerun the background checks on Lindsay’s new recruits,” Gavin offered, pulling his laptop on his lap. The B-Team was always bringing in new people, and Jeremy always ran background checks before they were hired. The game was forgotten as half of them drifted off to work. Ryan stayed on the couch, guilt chewing his insides. Ray turned to him and smiled.

“I guess it’s just us now,” He joked, picking up one of the discarded controllers. “I was thinking we could switch to Mario Kart.” 

Ryan nodded slowly, trying to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ray smiled at him, and they began racing. By the end of the first race Ryan was able to smile again, and by the time they stopped playing, he could almost pretend that the feeling was gone.

Sir called him again that night, asking for useful information. Ryan relayed what Geoff had told him earlier that day. Sir seemed satisfied with Ryan’s answer, hanging up and leaving him to the empty guilt wracking his insides. Ryan wasn’t sure what to do about it.

* * *

 

Ryan had been with the crew for almost a year the first time he froze up during a heist. No one had noticed because a moment later it was over. The police had gotten a tip, and arrived well before they were supposed to. Everything was falling apart, and Ryan was in the middle of it all, hearing different commands from everyone. Ray was screaming at him to move out of his cover before he got shot, Geoff was telling him to hold off for just another second, and Michael was yelling for him to toss him a grenade. Everyone was talking all at once, and it was impossible for Ryan to do everything they wanted him to. Choking on a panicked scream, Ryan felt the vice squeeze shut. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. Just as his vision began to blur, and darken, Michael shot a gas tank being trucked across the overpass across from the bank. In that moment Geoff was telling them all to get to the getaway vehicles, and everyone complied. The bombardment of orders stopped, and the buzzing in Ryan’s ears disappeared. His breathing was still ragged, but slowly he began to calm. Everyone got away from the scene without any major injuries. Ryan holed up in his room for two days after that, the realization that someone could’ve died from his inaction rendering him useless.

The next time Ryan froze up in the middle of a heist, everyone noticed. He was in the street in front of the bank, holding off the police that got there too soon. Again everything started to crumble, and he could hear Geoff curse over the comms. 

“Ryan, get in here and grab Gavin! I think the idiot broke his ankle!” Geoff commanded, gunfire echoing in Ryan’s ear. Ryan turned to run into the bank when Michael protested.

“No, I need Ryan out here!” He yelled, making Ryan stop in his tracks. “Get Jack to do it.”

“I can’t,” Jack answered through grit teeth, “I’m trying to keep the cops from blowing up our getaway. Ryan, could you start shooting them maybe?”

Ryan felt the vice clench down on his throat, crushing his lungs, and the buzzing in his ears began. Dropping his gun, Ryan reached up to hold his head, trying to squeeze the buzzing out. Gavin’s groan reached his ears, and Geoff started calling for him again. Michael was yelling at him to shoot, and Jack was asking him why he wasn’t moving. It sounded like they were talking to him through a glass wall, and Ryan could barely make out their words. He bit his lip to keep from yelling, squeezing his eyes shut.

Ray started screaming his name, the panic in his voice evident, “Ryan! Ryan they’re going to shoot you! Ryan! Ryan!”

Everyone started yelling at him to move a moment too late, and Ryan felt the bullet rip through his leg. Then there was another in his shoulder, and another through his side. He didn’t fall, trying to run just as everyone was telling him to do, but his head started to spin as blood poured out of the wounds. He was tackled to the ground by Michael just before a bullet would have buried itself in his skull. Ray was still screaming his name, and Michael was calling for help through a clenched jaw. Ryan reached for his dropped gun to help Michael shoot, but his arm caught a stray bullet before he could get to it. Jack appeared with frenzied worry in his eyes, helping Michael haul Ryan to his feet. He struggled to stay conscious as they dragged him to the getaway van, carefully dropping him in a seat. Ray was sprinting to the van, away from the bike he usually took, and clambered in just before Michael pulled the door closed. Ryan could see Gavin cradling his ankle in the passenger seat as Geoff sped away. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Ray’s frantic face, unable to hear his worried yelling.

Ryan woke in his bed with an IV drip in his hand, and a pounding headache. Weak sunlight was streaming through his window, curtains drawn, and he suppressed a groan. Ryan didn’t have to look down to know his torso was almost entirely wrapped in gauze spotted with red. When he tried to sit up, his body screamed at him with red hot pain, but he ignored it, struggling to sit upright. Just as Ryan noticed an empty chair next to his bed, the door opened and Ray walked in with a water bottle and his DS. He rushed to Ryan’s side the moment he noticed he was awake, almost dropping his DS.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be up yet,” Ray gently guided Ryan back to laying down. “You lost so much blood, Caleb said you’d probably be out for a few days.”

Ryan shrugged, ignoring the pain it sent radiating through his body. Sir never let him rest for long after his punishments, so he had gotten used to living through pain. Ray frowned at him for a moment before pulling out his phone.

“I’m going to call Caleb and see what he says,” Ray explained, dialing the number with ease. He talked for a minute, and Ryan didn’t bother listening to one side of the conversation. 

“He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Ray said, grabbing the water bottle and opening it. “Here, you should drink something.”

Ryan took the bottle and began to take long, slow sips. The water was cold as it slid down his throat, cooling his rough throat. Ray didn’t say anything else as Ryan slowly drank all the water, and in fifteen minutes there was a knock on the door. Ray opened it to reveal Caleb waiting on the other side, the rest of the crew gathered behind him, worry lining their faces. Caleb strode in the room, and the crew tried to stumble in after him. Caleb shooed them away, a stern look in his eye, and they walked away with disappointed frowns. Before Ray had a chance to leave, Ryan called for him. The younger man smiled softly, and sat in the chair next to Ryan’s bed as Caleb carefully redressed his injuries. 

“You’ll have to stay in bed for at least a week before you try walking around,”  Caleb ordered, handing Ryan a few painkillers. “Take these. Remember to drink a lot of water.”

Caleb left after that, leaving a pill bottle in Ray’s hand. Ryan swallowed the pills in his hand using the water Caleb had given him. They left a foul taste in his mouth, and Ryan gulped down more water to wash it out. He turned to Ray, who smiled gently, and felt exhausted.

“Go back to sleep,” Ray told him, watching as Ryan nodded tiredly. The older man was out again after a few seconds. Ray sat next to him with a worried frown, carefully taking his hand. 

The next time Ryan woke, his headache was gone and his body wasn’t screaming at him anymore. Feeling a foreign weight in his hand, Ryan looked over to find Ray holding it, asleep. The sun was no longer seeping through the curtains, and Ryan wished he could look out the window at the stars. When he was younger, he would wake up from nightmares choking back a scream, and turned to the night sky for comfort. He didn’t realize he had been gently stroking Ray’s hand with his thumb, until the younger man stirred awake.

“Ryan? How are you feeling?” Ray asked tiredly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Here, I grabbed some more water.”

Ryan took the offered bottle and swallowed a few gulps before handing it back. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Ray stared at him, confused. Ryan knew what he was going at ask before the lad opened his mouth, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make him nervous.

“What happened, Rye?” Ray questioned, his eyes worried. “Why did you freeze up like that?”

Ryan took a deep breath and held it. He wasn’t sure how to answer without seeming weak. He wasn’t weak. He just got confused, and it made him panic. It was just because everyone was talking at once. His lungs began to burn, pushing on his throat for air, and he released the breath. Ray had moved from sitting in the chair to the edge of Ryan’s bed, squeezing his hand slightly. Ryan avoided his gaze, chewing on his lip. 

“Rye, you can talk to me,” Ray’s voice was quiet, and his smiled softly at Ryan. “I won’t be upset or anything. I’m just worried about you.”

Ryan had never had anyone worry about him before Ray and the others. He had never had anyone that wouldn’t get mad at him for the smallest mistake. He’d never had anyone willing to hold his hand and listen. He wanted to tell Ray everything. So he did. It all came out in a rush, and once he started, Ryan couldn’t stop. He talked and talked, telling Ray everything. The younger man never interrupted him, allowing him to say everything he had ever thought. By the end of it Ryan was crying, silent tears dripping from his eyes. For the first time since he was three years old, he cried. He clung to Ray’s hand, his head hanging as tears fell onto their hands. Ray carefully ran a hand through Ryan’s hair as the man talked so quietly it was barely a whisper. When he finally finished, the first rays of daylight were struggling past the curtains. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ryan cried, his voice breaking. “It’s all my fault. I’ve betrayed all of you. I’m so weak. I’m so sorry.”

Ray hushed him quietly, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Ryan’s hair, “It’s okay, Ryan. You’re not weak. It’s okay.”

Ryan looked up at the other man, his eyes still dripping tears. Ray’s heart broke at the beaten look in his eye when he spoke, “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”

Ray pulled his hand from Ryan’s grip, momentarily scaring the older man, and gently wrapped his arms around Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan paused before reaching up and clinging to Ray, a sob wracking his body. Ray laid his head on Ryan’s as he whispered to the man.

“You haven’t ruined anything. You’re not weak. It’s okay. You’re okay,” He repeated those words until Ryan’s eyes dried, and the man sat up carefully. He watched Ray with wide eyes, his cheeks stained with tears. 

“What am I going to do? Sir is going to punish me. He’ll take me away,” Ryan asked, looking down at his hands. A childlike fear painted itself across his features, and Ray felt his anger boil. The more Ryan had told him about Sir, the more he had wanted to gut the man. Ray pushed his anger aside for the moment, grabbing Ryan’s hands softly.

“Just sleep for now,” Ray smiled softly, resisting the urge to swipe a stray tear off Ryan’s cheek. “I’ll go talk to Geoff.”

As Ray started to stand, slipping his hands out of Ryan’s, the older man felt his stomach clench in panic. Grabbing Ray’s hand before he could think, he looked at the man with wide eyes, “Please don’t go.”

Ray smiled sadly, and sat back on the bed. Ryan tugged his hand slightly, and Ray chuckled as he laid next to the older man. Ryan smiled at the feel of Ray tucked into his side, and realization hit him like a truck. He finally understood what it was he felt when he looked at Ray, or when the lad smiled at him. It was foreign to him, but Ryan finally realized that he loved Ray. After more than a year with him, Ryan knew he loved Ray.

“Ray,” Ryan was hesitant to speak, but the vice was still loose after speaking for so long. Ray hummed in acknowledgement, peering up at the man, who looked up at the ceiling, “I think I love you.”

Ray was shocked into silence, staring at Ryan. The older man looked down when Ray didn’t say anything, panic beginning to settle in his stomach as the vice started to tighten again. Slowly, Ray smiled at him, sitting up. Relief spread through Ryan as he smiled back.

“I love you too,” Ray said, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. Ryan stared into his eyes, glee pulling his mouth into a dopey grin. Ray’s smile widened, and he closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, “Can I kiss you?”

Ryan went rigid at the question, making Ray open his eyes in worry. He had never kissed anyone before, he wouldn’t know what to do. He knew that the tug at his heart meant he wanted to kiss Ray, but he didn’t know what to do. He bit his lip, looking between Ray’s eyes and mouth quickly. 

As if the younger man could tell what Ryan was thinking, he closed his eyes again and said, “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

Ray waited for Ryan to nod before moving an inch, but when Ryan did nod, he gently placed his lips against Ryan’s. Ryan instinctively raised his hand to cup Ray’s cheek, trying to figure out what to do with his lips. The kiss was slow, and Ray was patient with Ryan’s stumbling. Eventually, the older man figured it out, and Ray melted into him. It was a simple kiss, and when Ray pulled away, both men were grinning. Ryan brushed a thumb over Ray’s cheekbone, and Ray blushed at the adoring look in his eye. Ray laid back down, Ryan’s good arm wrapped around his shoulder, and rested his hand on Ryan’s chest.

“Sleep,” He spoke softly, letting his eyes flutter closed. Ryan smiled happily, ignoring the dread that trickled into his stomach. Soon, they were both drifting to sleep, and for the first time in years, Ryan slept peacefully.

* * *

 

“Ryan, you need to stay in bed,” Ray urged, frustration weaved into his words. Ryan was sitting on the edge of his bed, Trying to pull on a shirt. They had been awake for almost twenty minutes when Ray made himself get up to talk to Geoff. Ryan had sat up after him, claiming that he would also go. 

“I’m okay,” Ryan insisted, gingerly putting his arms through the sleeves. “I’ve had less rest with a lot worse.”

Ray’s eyes saddened slightly, “I know, but Caleb said you should stay in bed for a week.”

Ryan paused. He had been told to stay in bed for a week. The thought was almost enough to make him lay back down, but he didn’t want to leave Ray’s side. Especially if he was going to tell Geoff who had been leaking their plans. 

On a whim he said, “Caleb’s not my boss.”

Pride danced in Ray’s eyes, knowing how hard it was for Ryan to break orders, and an amused smile twitched on his lips. Ryan grinned, knowing that Ray would let him follow. 

“Fine,” Ray rolled his eyes, “but, you have to get right back in bed after. Just this once, so we can talk to Geoff.”

“Okay,” Ryan agreed, smiling at Ray. The younger man bit back a grin, watching Ryan pull his shirt on the rest of the way. Ryan stood slowly, his legs shaking slightly. Ray made to help him, but Ryan waved him away. After a few shaky steps, he was able to walk fine, limping slightly on his hurt leg. 

They  made their way to the living room, Ray guiding Ryan to the couch. The rest of the crew rushed to join them with a mixture of worry and relief for their friend. None of them questioned why they were holding hands, but a couple of dollars were stealthily exchanged. Ryan made a mental note to ask about it later.

“What are you doing up?” Jack asked, hovering slightly. He was the residential medic when Caleb wasn’t needed. 

“We have to talk to Geoff,” Ray answered, sitting pressed against Ryan’s side. “Ryan knows why the police keep knowing when we’re heisting.”

Everyone perked up at that, Geoff grinning slightly, “Well, what is it?”

Ryan took a deep breath, willing the anxiety out of his shaking hands. Ray squeezed his hand in encouragement as he began, “I’ve been the one giving away your plans. I-”

Ryan was unable to continue when everyone exploded at once. Michael was the loudest, yelling obscenities at Ryan. “You fuck! I knew we couldn’t fucking trust you the minute you walked in here. You fucking asshole!”

Gavin on the other hand was the quietest, unable to stand like the rest of them. He rubbed at the cast on ankle with betrayal in his eyes, “Why would you do that? I don’t get it, Ryan.”

Jack was definitely the calmest, mostly just confused. He tugged at his beard as he spoke, “I don’t understand, are you serious? What do you mean?”

Geoff was the angriest, his eyes boring holes into Ryan’s. His words slipped out between clenched teeth, scalding Ryan, “I never should have hired you. I should have killed you. I  _ am  _ going to kill you.”

Ryan shrunk into the couch, trying to make himself disappear. His eyes were screwed shut in fear, everyone’s words feeling like a gunshot. They hurt more than any of the punishments Sir gave him, because he considered them all family at this point. Ray scowled at his crewmates, furious.

“Everyone shut up!” He yelled, commanding the attention of everyone. Michael kept grumbling under his breath, but the room was otherwise quiet as Ray continued, “I can’t believe you all. You didn’t even give Ryan the chance to explain before attacking him!” 

Geoff opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by Ray’s burning glare. It wasn’t often that Ray got angry, and it intimidated all of them when he did. “You’re going to sit your asses down, shut the fuck up, and listen to Ryan. If any one of you interrupts, I will end you.”

Everyone sat in the closest seat they could, staring at Ray and Ryan. The lad turned back to Ryan with a gentle smile, “Go ahead, Rye. They won’t say anything until you’re finished.”

Ray was right, none of them spoke as Ryan told his story, the anger draining from their faces. It was replaced with sympathy and confusion. Ryan knew the confusion was because they didn’t know who he meant when he said Sir. He couldn’t bring himself to say his boss’ real name, however, and waited for someone to figure it out. When he finished, there was a long stretch of silence, and he waited with bated breath. No one was really angry anymore, at least not at Ryan.

“Wait,” Geoff said, realization dawning on him. “Are you saying you work for Masters? Bryce Masters?”

Ryan flinched at the sound of Sir’s real name, remembering what he did to young Ryan when he tried calling him by that. Everyone was surprised that Ryan visibly flinched at just a name, and Ray squeezed his hand softly. 

“Yes,” Ryan nodded, “I’ve worked directly under him my whole life.”

Geoff was silent as he absorbed the information. Gavin leaned toward Ryan carefully, his eyes sympathetic and curious, “What did you mean when you said he would punish you?”

Ryan clenched his jaw, trying not to think about the punishments. The vice started to tight around his lungs, and Ryan’s breathing started to stutter. Ray shot Gavin a glare as he rubbed Ryan’s back, softly reassuring the other man. Gavin’s eyes clouded with guilt and he leaned back. 

“I’m sorry Ryan,” He apologized. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Ryan nodded in thanks, the vice loosening as he focused on Ray’s words. Jack and Michael watched Ryan with worry, and Ryan spotted the guilt swimming in Michael.

“It’s okay,” He spoke, startling Michael slightly. “I understand why you yelled. I would’ve done the same. It’s alright.”

Michael looked at him with wide eyes for a moment before smiling, “Well, I’m sorry anyway. I wasn’t thinking. If you had really been betraying us, you wouldn’t have said anything.”

Ryan smiled in thanks. He really loved his friends. Suddenly, Geoff broke into a grin, looking at Ryan.

“This could actually be a good thing,” He said, leaning forward as he watched Ryan. “I don’t want to push you into anything, but we could start feeding Masters fake intel. We could take him down, and then you would never have to worry about him again.”

Ryan thought for a long moment, his gaze hardening, and making Geoff worry he had said the wrong thing. Ryan wanted to help them take down Sir’s empire, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to lie to the man. He was so terrified of his punishments, knowing that he’d order Ryan back to the estate if he needed one. The prospect of living without Sir hovering above him at every moment was appealing, however. Ryan nodded, determination settling in his eyes.

“Okay,” He agreed, “I’ll help you, but when the time comes, I pull the trigger.”

Geoff nodded as though he wasn’t expecting anything different, but Ryan was shocked by his own words. He hadn’t even thought about killing Sir until the words were falling out of his mouth. He knew that they came from the spark that was still burning deep inside him. His anger still haunted him, the spark growing at the very mention of Sir. He realized after the shock wore off though, that he genuinely meant it. Having finally experienced happiness and love, he would do anything to keep it. Even it meant killing the man who raised him; especially if it meant killing the man who raised him. 

He and Geoff spent countless hours working together to devise a plan. They came up with months’ worth of intel to give Sir. The information would give nothing away about the FAHC, but would actually cause Sir to hurt his own empire. Ryan was able to predict what Sir would do with the info after spending all his life listening to his business decisions. Geoff was able to construct a cocktail of the perfect amount of false and real facts to make the intel believable. No harm would ever come to the crew, and Sir would have to watch his empire crumble. Geoff wrote down everything he decided for Ryan, ensuring that the other man wouldn’t ever have to improvise.

Ray left Geoff and Ryan to their business, occasionally glancing over to make sure Ryan was okay. He would smile every time he saw the older man relaxed next to Geoff, the fear in his eyes replaced with determination. That night he silently watched Ryan’s conversation with Sir, smiling as the fake intel slipped through Ryan’s lips. Afterwards, he helped Ryan through the panic attack that came from lying. Eventually, Ryan stopped having panic attacks after lying so easily to Sir, curling around Ray happily instead. 

Ryan watched from afar as Sir’s empire began to dissolve. Sir had no idea that the decisions he made with Ryan’s intel was causing the problems in his business. They always seemed completely unrelated, just as Geoff had intended them to. Sir tried to cover it up, but Ryan could hear the panic in his voice whenever they spoke. Almost three months had passed, and Sir’s empire was already little more than a simple gang. After those three months, Sir called Ryan early in the morning, demanding his return to the estate. Ryan was terrified, and barely moved for hours, clinging to Ray desperately. After the younger man had helped calm him, and Geoff had given the go ahead, Ryan was climbing onto Sir’s last plane. Not unlike how his flight to Los Santos went, Ryan studied the pages of fake intel Geoff had given him, despite already knowing them by heart. For the first time in years, Sir personally greeted him to the estate. 

“Ryan! My boy, it’s great to see you after so long,” Sir grinned, roughly patting Ryan’s shoulder. In that moment, Ryan wished for Geoff and his crew. They had never been so rough with him. Ryan only nodded in response, letting Sir guide him into the mansion he had spent most of his life in. They didn’t speak until Ryan was back standing in front of Sir’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the changes my business has gone through,” Sir began as if the Earth wasn’t falling out from beneath his feet. “I’ve called you here because I suspect that imbecile Ramsey has something to do with it.”

Ryan held back his defense of Geoff, instead asking, “I’ve never heard him mention attacking you, sir..”

“Precisely my point,” Sir nodded. “I have no real evidence, however I’ve come to believe that Ramsey is trying to run me out of business.”

Ryan pretended to be both shocked, and in awe of his boss’ intelligence, “I had no idea he even thought about that. How can you know, sir?”

“I can feel it in my bones,” Sir scowled, shuffling through some papers. “I also received word from one of Ramsey’s old informants that he was trying to buy a warehouse in Los Santos that I own. Perhaps it’s merely a coincidence, but I can’t take any risks.”

“What do you need me to do, sir?” Ryan asked automatically, knowing that Sir was approaching his assignment. Sir grinned at him, and Ryan felt his stomach lurch.

“I want you to have Ramsey, and the rest of those brutes, go to the warehouse in two weeks. I will be waiting there with a handful of my men, and you’ll finally be able to kill those pests,” Sir explained, grinning at the genius of his plan. Ryan felt sick, the vice slowly beginning to tighten.

“Sir, if I may,” Ryan began, knowing that Sir would have his men fully armed, “I think it would be beneficial to keep your security unarmed. I’ve seen Ramsey’s men use a man’s own weapon against him.”

Sir’s expression darkened, and Ryan held back a flinch as he spoke lowly, “Are you suggesting that those barbarians could overtake my trained men? Are you saying that you are  _ afraid _ of them? I have taught you better than to be afraid of nobodies.”

Ryan swallowed thickly recognizing the look in Sir’s face, “No, of course not sir. I’m simply trying to give you all the information I have.” 

Sir narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, “Go to your office and wait for me there.”

Ryan’s throat closed, and he nodded with an expressionless look. His office was meant to be where he could “chat” with whoever Sir wanted him to, but more often than not, it was used for his punishments. It was next to his old bedroom, the black door a stark contrast to his own. He forced his hands to steady, sitting in the lone chair in the room, staring at the wall of tools across from him. Almost an hour later, the door opened and Sir sauntered in, smiling. He stopped in front of Ryan, watching the other man’s emotionless face. He turned to inspect the rows of tools behind him.

“Do you have any idea why I’ve brought you here today?” Sir asked, picking up a curved blade, only to shake his head and put it back.

“I doubted you and your plan,” Ryan replied, almost automatically. It wasn’t the first time he had given that reason, but it had been the first time since he was a young teenager. Sir nodded with a hum as he picked up a lighter and silver switchblade. Ryan had bought both of them. Sir turned back to him, flipping the lighter open.

“That’s right. You’ve doubted me after years of my guidance. You’ve doubted me, and I will not allow it to go unpunished,” Sir walked circles around Ryan, holding the switchblade in the lighter’s flame. “How many times have I led you astray?”

“Never,” Ryan answered, gritting his teeth as Sir pressed the broad side of the blade to his neck, burning his skin.

“Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?” Sir asked, almost purring as he lightly dragged the switchblade across the back of Ryan’s neck. It left behind a line of blood, like a papercut would, slowly dripping down his shirt. Ryan kept his gaze forward, banishing the emotion from his face. The cut across his neck had barely hurt, but he knew Sir would make sure it hurt. 

“No,” Ryan answered, ignoring Sir as he heated the switchblade again. Slowly, Sir dragged the hot metal across Ryan’s chest, slicing his shirt as he did. Ryan refused to show any sign of a reaction, and Sir grinned.

“So, do you understand why I have to punish you?” Sir asked, quickly stabbing the knife through the fleshy part of Ryan’s upper arm. Ryan didn’t even blink, pain shooting up and down his arm.

“Yes,” He answered, his voice steady. Sir grinned, pulling out the knife and wiping the blood on Ryan’s shirt. Ryan barely blinked the entire time Sir punished him. After almost an hour, Ryan’s shirt was bloody and filled with holes. Sir left with little more than an order for him to return to Los Santos immediately. Ryan waited until he knew Sir would be back in his office before entering his own room. There he sopped up the blood with his ruined shirt, tossing it into the garbage as he pulled on a new one. 

The plane ride was spent ignoring the burning pain sprawling over his body, and Ryan couldn’t wait to return to the penthouse. When he finally made it the building, taking the elevator to the top floor, Ryan was itching to see his crew. He had texted Ray when he got off the plane, and when he walked into the penthouse, everyone was waiting for him. 

“Ryan!” Ray exclaimed happily, jumping over the couch to hug the older man. Ryan chuckled and held him closely as the others made their way over.

“Hey buddy,” Geoff grinned, reaching out to gently pat Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan hid his pain through a smile as Geoff continued, “Glad to see you back home. How about you relax for a couple hours before we talk business?”

Ryan smiled in thanks, wanting nothing more than curl up with Ray as he played games, “That would be great. Thanks Geoff.”

Ryan hadn’t realized he had started bleeding through his shirt until Ray’s gasp interrupted his welcome back. “Ryan! You’re bleeding!”

Immediately, everyone started asking him what happened in concern as Jack hurried to the first aid kit. Ray shushed everyone as he led Ryan to the kitchen table, making him sit and explain. Jack insisted on inspecting Ryan’s injury, and everyone’s eyes widened at the state of his upper body. It was covered in fresh burns, cuts, and stab wounds.

“Sir decided I needed to be punished while I was there,” Ryan explained, looking between everyone’s worried faces. He could see anger mixing with the worry in everyone’s eyes. Ray gripped his hand tight, staring at Ryan’s profile.

“What could possibly warrant this kind of abuse?” Jack asked, cleaning all of Ryan’s injuries. He was surprised to hear the way Jack had described the punishment. He had never thought of it that way before. Ryan finally allowed himself to wince in pain, grateful to be back with the crew.

“When I tried suggesting something for his plan, he thought I was doubting him,” Ryan explained, watching as Jack expertly fixed him up. He had never received medical attention after a punishment before. 

“He punished you for trying to help?” Gavin squawked, frowning deeply when Ryan nodded. Everyone stayed silent for a moment as they watched Jack, surveying new and old injuries on Ryan.

“Speaking of plan, Geoff, while we’re all here, Sir told me what he was planning,” Ryan began, keeping his arm completely still as Jack started stitching something closed. “He wants me to take you to his warehouse in two weeks. He’ll ambush you guys there with some of his men. Then he’s going to have me kill you all.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen,” Geoff stated, scowling. He wandered off to plan, Gavin and Michael doing the same not long after. Jack remained silent as he worked, and Ryan willed himself to relax. Ray, still clinging to his hand, looked up at him, fear clouding his eyes.

“Rose, what’s wrong?” Ryan asked, pressing his forehead into Ray’s when he wouldn’t move his hand. Ray leaned into the contact, closing his eyes.

“I was so scared he would kill you,” Ray whispered, “and then you came back all bloody. I never want to lose you.”

“You haven’t lost me, Ray,” Ryan reassured, smiling softly when the lad opened his eyes. “I’ll be okay, it wasn’t even that bad. I’m here to stay, okay. You’re stuck with me.”

Ray smiled sadly at him, raising a hand to hold his face, “I love you, Rye.”

“I love too you, Ray,” Ryan smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Ray’s mouth. Ray kissed back hurriedly, all his anxieties rushing out with the kiss. Jack hid his smile as he stitched up the last of Ryan’s injuries and began wrapping them in gauze. He wouldn’t tell any of the others, but he did take a picture of the couple. Their foreheads were pressed together, staring at each other with wide smiles and bright eyes. He would print it out for them later, as a gift.

Ryan spent the next two weeks glued to Ray’s side, for both their benefits. Ray was scared of what Sir would do to Ryan when he found out the man was working against him, and Ryan was scared of what Sir would do to Ray and the crew if something went wrong. Geoff was unsure of how well they could plan for the encounter, but he made sure that Lindsay and B-Team would be waiting outside, ready to burst in at a moment’s notice. The two weeks flew by, and before they knew it, they were pushing through the doors to the warehouse. 

Almost immediately, everyone but Ryan was grabbed by two men each. There was a moment of struggling where Ryan tried to decide what to do, and then they all stopped with the sound of a voice.

“The Fake AH Crew,” Sir chuckled, walking out of the darkness to stand a few feet from the crew, “a ragtag bunch of idiots, led by Geoff Ramsey himself. What a pleasure to meet you all.”

“What are you doing here Masters?” Geoff snarled, glaring at the smiling man. Ryan had insisted that they all pretend to have no idea that Ryan worked under Sir, and they all agreed to try their best.

“I’m afraid that I’ve come to put an end to your ridiculous group,” Sir sneered, gesturing for Ryan to stand next to him, “and to take back my best employee.”

Ryan was proud of how well the crew was able to act. They all reacted exactly as they had when they had actually thought Ryan betrayed them. He also suspected they were channeling their anger toward Sir. 

“Now, now,” Sir spoke slowly, gesturing for Ryan to take his gun out. Ryan did as he was told, but kept the weapon pointed down. “I want all of you to drop your weapons, or I’ll have the Vagabond put a hole in one of your precious little faces.”

Ryan raised his gun for the effect, but pointed it at one of the men holding Ray, frowning at the gun on his hip. The younger man held back a smile, forcing his mouth into a fearful scowl. Sir laughed as the crew dropped their weapons, only to keep Ryan from having to give himself away.

“In a minute, I’m going to have my friend here kill all of you as slowly as possible,” Sir’s eyes darkened, and he glared at the crew, “but first, I want-”

He was cut off when Michael wrenched his arm free, grabbing the gun from the now dazed man that held him. He raised to to shoot Sir, but when he pulled the trigger, it only clicked. Sir laughed, cruel amusement dancing across his features. The clip was empty. The guards grabbed onto Michael again, their grip tighter.

“Do you take me for a fool?” He laughed, zeroing in on Michael. “I would never put a gun so close to your grasp.”

Ryan almost sighed in relief, knowing that he was the reason the only real threat in the room was him. He felt the spark rear it’s head at the thought that Sir punished him for no reason. It had never burned so hot, and Ryan had to keep it from trembling his hand. 

“I was going to tell you what I’ll do to the rest of your people after this,” Sir snarled, anger contorting his features, “but now you’ve annoyed me. Ryan, kill them.”

Ryan hesitated for just a moment, and turned the gun on Sir. His eyes widened slightly, anger painting his features. His men’s eyes widened, and they were unsure of what to do. 

“Ryan!” Sir barked. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

“I won’t let you hurt my friends,” Ryan growled, feeling the spark lick against sides. It was burning his insides, demanding that Ryan shoot. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger, and felt panic bubble in his throat. He was too weak.

“Your  _ friends _ !” Sir crowed, laughing, “You don’t have friends. They don’t really care, why would they. I’m the man who raised you, taught you everything you know. Put the gun down.”

Ryan gulped, his hand twitching. He screamed at himself to pull the trigger, but his hand started to shake. Sir sneered at him, “You are truly pitiful. Drop the gun, Ryan. Now!”

Without a thought, Ryan dropped the gun. He stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back and his face emotionless, all of his childhood fears rushing back as Sir glared at him. He could see the crew’s shock from the corner of his eye, and Ray started struggling against his captors again. Sir didn’t glance at the crew as he stalked up to Ryan, stooping to pick up the gun. Ryan was sure his life was going to end, and Ray started to yell for him. Ryan couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, and his panic doubled as Sir tucked the gun into his waistband. 

“Do you know what you are?” Sir snarled, plucking one of Ryan’s knives off of him. Ray started to flail, eyes wide. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” Ryan answered, his voice flat. He could see Ray pause, no doubt in surprise as the whole crew watched in shock.

“What are you?” Sir demanded, ripping off Ryan’s mask and pressing the blade to his cheek. “Show me that you know what you are.”

Ryan felt beads of blood form around the place the knife pressed into his skin.  Ray started to struggle, screaming, as Ryan answered, his voice flat, “A guard dog. Your guard dog.”

“That’s right,” Sir snarled, bringing his hand downward swiftly to slice open Ryan’s cheek. “Do you know why I’m going to punish you, in front of your  _ friends _ ?”

“Yes,” Ryan nodded, his eyes vacant in a way that honestly scared the whole crew. The moment before Sir was going to strike again, Ray broke free. The guards that held him stumbled back from the force, dazed.

“Ryan!” Ray called, running to the man. “Ryan! Don’t listen to him!”

The rest of the crew took the chance to free themselves, diving for their weapons and shooting at the guards. Sir’s men scrambled around the warehouse in fear.

Ryan turned to Ray in numb shock, but before the two could meet, Sir stepped in front of Ray, “Ryan is mine! I groomed him into the man he is. How dare you talk to him like he’s worth something!”

“He is worth something!” Ray snapped, glaring holes through Sir. “He’s not just some guard dog, he’s worth everything!”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat as he began to come back to reality. He recognized the look in Sir’s eye as he looked at Ray. It was the look he always had when he was going to punish Ryan. He was going to hurt Ray. He was going to kill Ray. He was going to kill his rose.  _ No one _ could hurt his rose. The spark exploded in Ryan just as Sir raised his knife to attack Ray. Before the man could move, Ryan was grabbing him by the collar, making him drop the knife. Sir had just enough time to realize what was happening, his eyes widening in horror, before Ryan punched him square in the nose. All of Ryan’s anger was put into that punch, the spark shooting through his fist into Sir, and a sickening crack echoed through the warehouse as Sir fell to the ground, unconscious. 

The entire crew had watched as Ryan made the first decision of his life, all by himself. The most important decision of his life. He chose the crew- he chose Ray, over the only life he had ever known. They stared at the broken nose of Bryce Masters, knowing that Ryan was the deadliest of them all. He had spent his entire life being trained to kill, and after punching his old boss in the face, he was practically cooing at Ray in worry.

“Are you okay, my rose?” Ryan asked, holding the younger man to his chest, being careful not to let the blood from his cheek drip on him. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine Ryan,” Ray insisted, pushing back to look up at the older man. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Ryan smiled, placing a kiss to Ray’s forehead, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Ray smiled gently at him, wiping at the blood running down his cheek, “You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t care,” Ryan whispered, his eyes excited. “I’m okay. He can’t control me anymore. I’m okay.”

Ray laughed quietly, using his hoodie sleeve to wipe away the blood, “You’re the strongest person I know, Rye. You are so strong. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, rose,” Ryan whispered, hugging the lad tightly. For the first time ever, Ryan felt truly free. 

The crew was still loitering in the warehouse after twenty minutes, looking at the unconscious crime lord with a broken nose. Ryan’s cheek had been stitched and dressed by the B-Team, who had brought medical supplies. They had left not long after that, having work to do. Ryan glared at the man on the floor, his arm wrapped tightly around Ray.

“What now?” Gavin finally asked, looking to Ryan. Ryan kept glaring at his old boss as everyone looked to him. 

“I have somewhere to go,” Ryan finally said, looking around at his friends- his family, “and he’s coming with me.”

“I’m coming too,” Ray said, looking up at Ryan. There was no room for argument in his face, and Ryan knew that he was coming. Starting with Geoff, all the others claimed the same, and Ryan knew there was no stopping any of them.

“Okay,” Ryan nodded, looking back down at him again, “I have a plan.”

* * *

 

Less than twelve hours later, Ryan was walking into his old home, drawing the attention of everyone on the estate. He was followed by the whole crew, who was carrying the drugged owner of the house. All of the employees on the estate were gathered around Ryan in less than five minutes. Ryan stood tall, oozing confidence as he stood in the center on the massive foyer, a few feet from the stairs. 

“Bryce Masters is a dead man,” He stated, his voice strong as it reached everyone in the room. There was a collective murmur of shock and confusion, which Ryan hushed, “His empire is failing, his people are dying, and his closest guard has turned on him. All of you are free of whatever debts you may have owed, and you may leave.”

People started to push towards the door, giving Ryan and the crew a wide berth, but Ryan stopped them in their tracks, “However, if I hear of anyone trying to continue this man’s business, I will personally track you down, and put an end to your ideas.”

The terror came off the group in waves, and in a moment people were pouring out the doors. Without a word, Ryan continued up the stairs and the crew followed, both impressed and intimidated by his speech. They followed him through the house to a door painted black, completely unmarked. Ryan turned to them then, eyes dark. 

“I’ll take him now,” Ryan said, grabbing the unconscious Masters from Michael and Geoff. His gaze softened as he looked at the crew, “You guys can wait downstairs if you want. I think they have some movies, but I’m not sure. I wasn’t allowed to relax much.”

With a few nods of agreement, everyone but Ray left to find something to do. Ray stayed in front of Ryan, looking at the man in worry.

“Will you be okay?” He asked, watching as Ryan smiled softly at him. Ryan dropped Masters against the door, gently placing his hands on Ray’s face.

“I’ll be fine,” He assured, pressing a long kiss to Ray’s forehead, smiling. “Why don’t you go see what Michael and Gavin are up to? There might be a gaming system somewhere in this house that I never got to use.”

Ray bit his lip in hesitance, but nodded, “Okay. Come find me when you’re done.”

“I will,” Ryan promised, letting Ray go. The lad wandered off, following the distant sounds of Michael and Gavin arguing, or rather Michael yelling as Gavin squawked. Ryan watched him leave before picking Masters up again, and opening the door to his office. He had years of punishments to make up for. 

When Masters woke up, he was tied to a chair. After a moment of panic he recognized the room to be Ryan’s office, and his panic tripled. He struggled against his bounds, but there was no give. A chuckle from behind made him freeze. Ryan walked around into his view, his eyes darkly amused. 

“Ryan, listen, I-” Masters began, trying to plead for his life. Ryan didn’t bother listening though, and starting talking over him.

“I was three years old when you handed me a gun and taught me how to shoot,” He began, the spark that he hadn’t felt since punching the man reigniting. “I was a better shot than half your men by the time I was five years old. I was six when you taught me how to use knives. The first time I was stabbed was when you punished me for trying to take a throwing knife back to my room. I was nine years old when you threatened to cut out my tongue if I ever talked back again. There was already fifty seven needles in my shoulder when you said that. I hadn’t said a thing the whole time. I was twelve years old when you first made me kill. I was twelve years old when you sent me to kill my parents.”

Masters’ eyes widened, and Ryan sneered at him, “Yes, I know who that couple was. I knew the moment I saw her eyes; the moment before she died. The moment before I murdered her.

“You have punished me more times than I care to remember, but I do remember. I remember every single one perfectly,” Ryan leaned close to Masters to whisper. “Do you know why I’ve decided to punish you today?”

Masters only shook his head, trembling in fear. Ryan tsked, slapping the man with such force the chair leaned back, but Ryan stopped it before it could fall, “I’ll ask again. Do you know why I’ve brought you to this room?”

Masters whimpered and Ryan’s eyes hardened, “This is the room where you would torture me for no reason. I once cursed under my breath when I stubbed my toe, and you brought me in here. I was eleven years old. I still remember exactly what you did to me.”

Ryan slipped a throwing knife out of his pocket, “This is the knife I tried to take to my room when I was six. This is the same knife that you used to punish me that day. This is where I will start, so I ask you again, why did I bring you here?”

Masters was crying, his tears mixing with the dried blood from his broken nose, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ryan stabbed through Masters’ hand, tsking like he had caught him stealing an extra cookie, “Now I’m going to have to punish you for lying too.”

The crew downstairs turned on a movie, cranking the volume to drown out the screaming from upstairs. None of them mentioned the laughing that would sometimes drift downstairs. After an hour or two, the screaming stopped, but Ryan didn’t appear. They all knew that Ryan wasn’t done, and Masters was still plenty awake. They got through the first Jurassic Park, the Back to the Future Trilogy, and half of The Goonies before Ryan finally walked downstairs, dressed in an entirely new outfit. No one commented on the blood under his ear as he asked about the movie. Ray simply wiped it off and they started over, smiling at Ryan with warm eyes. Ryan had a lot of childhood to catch up on, and as he relaxed, the spark finally disappeared for good.

* * *

 

Epilogue

After the death of Bryce Masters, Ryan was able to make decisions easily, but only while he was working. At the penthouse, when the crew was arguing over what movie to watch, or what pizza toppings to get, Ryan was never able to contribute, panic bubbling in his throat. But Ray would hold his hand, and help him make a choice, until Ryan didn’t need any help. It took years, and lots of prodding from Ray and the crew, but Ryan figured out how to use his free will. 

The moment Ryan was able to make all his own decisions without panicking, he left the penthouse to go shopping. No one asked why, or what he was getting, simply smiling after the man they all loved. Their pride in him was evident, but no one was more obvious than Ray, who loved Ryan just as much as the other man loved him. Later that same day, Ryan took Ray up to Chiliad for an impromptu date. The stars were just starting to shine when Ryan handed Ray a small box with a huge smile. 

“Ray, my rose, even if we could never make it technically official, will you marry me?” Ryan asked, loving the way Ray’s eyes widened. Without a word Ray slipped a ring onto Ryan’s finger through a watery smile, and Ryan slipped the matching one onto Ray’s finger, kissing the younger man.

Back at the penthouse they walked in holding hands, a skull-engraved ring rubbing against a rose-engraved one. The crew congratulated them the moment they saw, and threw them a bachelor party. Ray and Ryan watched with full hearts as their family laughed together, and when they retired to bed that night, no one had to know that they spent all night listing the things they loved about each other.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was a thing. Let me know if you have any questions about anything, 'cause there's actually a bunch of info about this universe that I just couldn't organically work into the story. Feel free to leave any comments you have down below, and if you spotted a typo or something let me know. Thanks a bunch for reading this far! Until next time <3


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